In The Lap Of The Gods
by Crystal-Nimrodel
Summary: Who was Commander Khashoggi before he became worthy of that title? Events of the show seen through a very different pair of eyes.


**Title**: In The Lap Of The Gods

**Rating**: T

**Cast: **Khashoggi, Killer Queen, Pretty much everyone at some point…

**Pairings:** Potential Khashoggi/Killer Queen.

**Beta:** DyanaRoseJill.

**Disclaimer:** I own no-one from _We Will Rock You. _All the intellectual property of _We Will Rock You _belongs to Queen and Ben Elton etc. I do not intend to, nor am I making any financial gain from the writing of this story.

**Feedback: **Is always much appreciated!

**Summary**: Who was Commander Khashoggi before he became worthy of that title? Events of the show seen through a very different pair of eyes.

Chapter 1

Such a pretty day. If only there was a way to capture such warmth and light and have the world live under it forever. Then maybe everyone would be happy. Hands balled into tight little fists shook at his sides as he trudged along the pavement through the busy town centre. There was no justice in the world anymore. That much was for certain. After all, Gareth had hit him first…and he was only giving as good as he got. He always thought Mr Perry had it in for him, and now he knew for sure. His brows knit together in anger and his lips drew themselves into a thin line.

'Son?'

He jumped, the sudden, sharp voice startling him from his dark thoughts of sweet revenge at school tomorrow. He slowly raised his gaze, meeting the surprisingly warm face of a burly policeman. Well, this would be interesting. For once, he was not bunking off school. For once, he was legally roaming the streets inside school hours. But no doubt the policeman would not believe a word he said. Why should he? He had given them enough grief over the past couple of years as it was. Ordinarily, he might have come off with some smart-alec remark. Something nice and cutting, but today…today perhaps it might be fun to play their game for once.

'Yes, officer?'

'Out of school again?'.

'Yes, sir'.

The policeman sighed, shaking his head. 'What are we going to do with you, son? We warned you last time-'

'I'm allowed to be out, sir', the boy cut across him suddenly, 'They sent me home'.

There was a momentary silence between the pair and finally, the policeman nodded, appearing to frown…or was that merely a result of the itch that had forced him to scratch his bristling moustache so abruptly?

'Did they now?' he harrumphed disapprovingly. 'And what might this be for?'

'I hit someone, sir.'

A bushy brow rose. 'Hmmm…did y'now? Well we can't be having that, can we?' the policeman tutted in what the boy felt was an unnecessarily patronising manner. 'Try and keep your nose clean, son. You oughtn't be getting into such scrapes'.

He shrugged his comment off. 'Can't help it. I defend myself if I need to – shouldn't be nothing wrong with that, should there?'

'No…but choose your battles wisely. Next time, see if you can't just walk away.'

'But there isn't anything good about that sir!' he exclaimed, feeling a slight wisp of intrigue for the policeman's words despite himself. What kind of a person didn't stand up for themselves when threatened? What kind of a person just walked away? A coward. That was it. 'I'm no coward' he muttered, kicking a dirt clod around with the toe of his shoe.

The policeman tilted his head, gazing at the young boy in a sympathetic manner. 'No one said you were, son. But sometimes, you know…it takes a much stronger person to just walk away, than to go in all fists blazing…'.

He blinked up at the officer. Strange words for someone who was meant to serve justice to the world. It was all so confusing. No wonder the world was "going to pot", as his father so often liked to declare over dinner. Still, there was something comforting about what the policeman suggested, he couldn't deny that. How nice it would be if people really didn't always fight back…if the world could just live together and everyone be peaceful…if everyone could just be like…like… clones. Yes, that was it! Every thought similar…likes and dislikes…then there would be nothing more to fight about, would there? But that was never going to happen. That would be a perfect world, and right now, there was nothing about this world that was perfect.

Still, it could not do any harm to humour this man for now, so he managed a small smile and nodded. 'I'll try, sir.'

The policeman nodded and smiled before making to walk away. Then, he paused, and looked back around.

'Oh, and son …?'

'Yeah?'

'Happy Birthday'.

'Oh! Er…thanks!' he grinned, genuinely appreciative of the gesture. Indeed it was not until later on the bus ride home, gazing out through the condensation-drenched windows that it suddenly occurred to him.

How had he known?

Dragging his satchel behind him, he made his way slowly up the garden path, trying to delay the moment he would have to turn the handle and walk in, facing his parents with disappointment_. _They loved him, of course. He knew that. It was the shame at facing his mother…Still, at least his father would be at work, what with the long hours at the office he worked these days.

Suddenly, he jerked back as he felt something brush against his ankle and snapped his gaze down, before laughing quietly and scooping up the large family tabby in his arms, whereupon the feline proceeded to imitate a motorbike, purring loudly in his ear and perching heavily on the boy's shoulder.

So, cat in one hand, he slung his satchel over his vacant shoulder and made for the door that would lead him into the cavernous kitchen, taking a deep breath as he expected the tumult that was to come.

It didn't.

The kitchen was sparkling clean, as always…and practically empty…bar the sweet, slightly spiced smell of an apple pie baking in the oven, and the quiet hum of the dishwasher. As the delicious scent reached his nostrils, he felt his stomach rumble and mouth begin to water. Breakfast really had been a long time ago.

Setting down the cat, he gave the animal an affectionate scratch behind the ears before checking on the pie. Immediately, his face was engulfed in the sudden heat and steam from the oven, for a moment feeling as though he'd slipped into a cinnamon sauna. He drew back, noting that the pie was not yet nearly done, and closed the oven door, making for the fridge.

Leaning against the kitchen door frame, he sipped the glass of orange, feeling the iciness cover the back of his throat, cooling him down. The heat was ridiculous for such an October day. But then again, this was England, he supposed. The weather was so ridiculously changeable. He shrugged off his blazer, hanging it on the corner of a chair before going in search of any life in the house. Padding along the plush creme carpet, he heard voices coming from the lounge. He peered through therack in the double doors of their lounge, and slipped inside.

His eyes strayed to the wide-screen which had been left switched on the news channel. Perching on the arm of the sofa, the leather creaking a little under his slight weight, he strained his ears to listen.

'…Breaking news here at the BBC. We can exclusively reveal as the future of Britain's banks remains uncertain, the identity of the anonymous donation has finally been discovered'.

His eyes widened and he snatched up the remote, turning up the volume, watching as the studio switched to live footage of an interview outside what looked like a manor even more luxurious than their own. The anchor held a microphone up to a rather strange looking individual indeed.

Decked out in a very crisp looking suit, he spoke to the interviewer in a very clean tone, the brilliant summer sun making his bright blue hair shimmer like new polished chrome, the rays bouncing off the gleaming headset that he wore. Just looking at the guy made him feel a little…uneasy. Maybe it was the clipped tone in which he spoke..or the ever so too-bright-blue of his eyes…he couldn't put his finger on it. But whatever it was, it was mesmerising.

'You say you work for this wonderful woman?' the anchor chirruped, running a manicured hand through her heavily sprayed hair.

The spokesperson nodded. 'Yes. I do', he looked into the camera and the boy felt a slight shiver run over his spine as those cobalt eyes met his own. 'My mistress sends her warmest greetings and is pleased your government has accepted her token of aid. She wishes you to be aware that she will help in whatever way she can to bring about change in this troubled time'.

The anchor beamed at him, fluttering her false eyelashes rather blatantly. 'That is indeed a blessing for us all! What will be next? Will she be running for Prime Minister?' she gave an airy little laugh of jest, which the spokesperson mirrored, with a slightly metallic edge, before adding a little more seriously,

'Why? Is there a vacancy?'

Suddenly, from somewhere upstairs, there came a loud slam of doors and the sound of hurried steps.

' I don't care what they say. He's still too young!'

His gaze snapped up at the shrill sound of his mother's voice, as her heeled footsteps clipped down the sweeping staircase, into their tiled hall...towards the lounge.

'But darling, you must understand', his father's voice chimed in, gruff and determined, 'Look at me! Cheryl, we knew this day would come...'.

'I told you, I _don't _care!' she repeated, the voices outside the door growing louder.

'But it is what's best for him. You know that. With things as they are...'

'Things are bad, yes, Gustav, but they are never so bad that we should lose our son!'

The boy's grip on the arm of the sofa tightened and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. Lose him? What was this all about? He wasn't sick...was he? No surely not.

They'd have told him. Well, then what? Things were good with them. He glanced back at the television whose report now covered the recent desperation of the country's financial crisis and scandal. Okay, so the rest of the world had it pretty bad, but not them. Things were good with them...they were well off...comfortable...what was the matter?

'I decide what's best for my son-'

'Our son!'

'Sorry...OUR son', his mother corrected herself with a hint of cynicism, 'But without my say-so, they cannot take him anywhere!'

'Actually that's where you're wrong'

'...What?' The mother's voice was suddenly small, quiet...frightened even.

His father let out a long, low sigh. 'Actually, your word doesn't count for anything'.

'WHAT?! Gustav! He's my son!'

'OUR son'.

'Oh, shut up! No, he's MY son...I bore him...I raised him...and where were you? Working all the hours God sends at that godforsaken office!'

'To help keep us in the game! Darling, you knew that from the start! We needed the money!'

'And your son needed a father!'

By this time, the boy had crept around to sit on the sofa, knees pulled up to his chest, face pale, eyes closed. He didn't like to hear his parents arguing. What the hell was going on? He didn't have long to wait, however, as the handle on the lounge door began to turn.

'They will not take him! He deserves to choose his own life, and not even that woman you work for, with all her billions, should be able to change that!'

'But you said before-'

'Mum? What's...what's happening?'

Cheryl stood in the doorway, her usually immaculate blonde hair now a state of utter disarray, her face flushed with rage. In an instant, she was at his side, her crimson lacquered hands holding his in her own tightly.

'Sweetie...y-you heard all that?'

A small nod.

'Oh...' his mother hung her head, biting her lip. 'I'm sorry, honey, you weren't meant to hear-'

'Where am I going, Mum?'

Her eyes hardened and she sat next to her son, holding him tight, stroking his hair in an almost frantic manner. 'Nowhere, sweetie...nowhere'. She lifted her gaze, fixing her husband with a stony glare.

His father coughed abruptly, running a hand through his beard. 'There's someone here to see you son'.

'No! I told you, I won't let them!'

A soft sigh. 'Cheryl...you've got the Company all wrong. Only with them can our son grow into the best he can be. It's the best hope for him...you know that!'

His wife bit her lip, her hand visibly shaking a little as she grasped her son's shoulder. 'But...but he's so young!'

'His age is what they require...for their plans...and Cheryl, you remember what they said at the beginning...'

'But why can't they just get someone else? Why HIM?' Cheryl shook her fair head in disbelief. 'It's just not fair...'

'No one said it would be, love', Gustav's voice began to soften. 'But it's what is right. For the company. For the world. For us'.

'Would someone just please tell me what is going on?!' The boy squeaked, looking from one parent to the other in earnest.

Gustav nodded. 'Don't worry, son. Your mother's just concerned, but everything is going to be fine. I promise you'. He held out his large hand to his son in invitation. 'Come, now. There's someone who really wants to meet you'.

He was led through the huge hallway, down the corridors...in utter silence, his mind a whirl of confusion...new questions born every second...Who were these people? What did they want? What did they want with HIM? Was he in trouble?

Finally, they reached the second lounge at the far side of the house that led out to their gardens and turning the handle, Gustav turned to his son, smiling gently.

'Go on'.

Swallowing, he made his way slowly forward, jumping a little as the door was closed behind him, his parents staying the other side. Fear flooded his young veins. What in the world was going on?

It was then that his eyes fell on their visitor.

Seated in on of the large armchairs by the fireplace, gloved fingers steepled, sat the spokesperson from the news report.

The boy gaped. How was this possible?

'Um...hello?'

The figure turned around at once, slightly too-smooth face breaking into a smile as he rose with feline elegance, glided over to the boy, and after removing his glove, extended his hand. 'Ahh, you must be Gustav's son...we've heard so much about you at the Company.'

He hesitated and then, slowly, reached forward and accepted the stranger's hand in greeting, then gasped.

'You're ice cold!' he exclaimed.

'Perceptive child' the stranger replied dryly.

'But it's boiling out!'

He shrugged. 'Poor...circulation'.

'And I saw you on tv!'

A brow rose. 'Oh, you did?'

'Yes. Just now in the lounge'.

'How nice'.

'It was live'.

'Pardon?'

'It was live!'

'Was it now?'

There was something in the stranger's tone that warned the boy that this was a man who had very little patience with children.

'Yes...so how can you be in two places at once? It's like...magic!'

A slight smirk. 'Oh, there's nothing magical about me, I assure you. That was merely my associate'.

'But you look so alike'.

A sigh. 'Well, you're certainly living up to your reputation. Gustav told me you were an inquisitive child'.

He couldn't help but beam a little proudly at hearing of praise from his father. 'I suppose so...'

The stranger's smile seemed to break into a something a little more genuine. 'You see...we could do with someone like you onboard'.

'...Me?'

'You'.

'Why?'

'It is required'.

'What?'

Another sigh. 'All the Company's major employees are offspring of the ones that were there at the Creation Period. Genetics are a powerful thing, you see'.

'What do you mean?'

'Your father is one of our top employees. His work is greatly respected and it is Her wish that you shall follow in his steps in the days to come.

'Who are you talking about? Who is…"Her"?'

'My, my...so many questions for one so young. All shall be revealed when deemed necessary by Her. But for now...I am here to escort you to our nearest premises'.

'What for?'

'As I said, all shall be revealed. Now…' he fixed the boy with that startlingly piercing gaze, and offered his hand once more, 'Are you coming or not?'

'But what about my parents?'

'They'll be fine, I assure you'.

'When can I see them again?'

'Soon'.

'Promise?'

'Cross my heart' the stranger winked.

He frowned a little at that, but shrugged it off and reaching for his hand, bracing himself for the iciness of the stranger's skin.

'Wonderful. You won't regret this decision…_Sir_'.


End file.
